


I did what I had to.

by Loracine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine
Summary: Prompt: Enochian Summoning Ritual





	

Clack. Clack. Clack. Clackity. Clunk.  
  
A man deftly avoided smearing his nose with sauce with each bump as they flew over the ground at speeds approaching two hundred miles per hour. The wheels of the passenger train had been gliding smoothly, like a greased pig in August, over the steel rail until only a moment ago. The red tinged soda in his glass sloshed against the sides when the car hit a particularly uneven seam in the tracks, carbonation fizzling to the top with a hiss, and the entire car gave a little shudder. He would have forgone this little trip if it hadn’t been for the bacon cheeseburger tart he was delicately eating with his fingertips and the wet smack of his lips as he chewed. They were the best he had found on three continents and several thousand years of modern human evolution.  
  
He felt the odd stuttering hum of a summons gone awry thrum through him a second before the train seemed to melt away, replaced by the dirty surroundings of what appeared to be an abandoned campsite projected onto the back of his eyelids. He knew that if he opened his eyes the formerly well-appointed interior of the train car would greet him, faded opulence and disrepair revealing just how far the railroads had fallen from their former economic pedestal. That knowledge didn’t change the all-encompassing realness of the scene before him. The summoning might have failed, but he still sent a piece of himself along the glowing trail of residue the spell had carved into the metaphysical plane to ascertain just who exactly had been foolish enough to mess with such dangerous forces.  
  
A man clad in faded jeans and blue flannel towered over the stump of an old redwood, easily a half millennia old when it had been felled. He was muttering under his breath as tendrils of smoke from the contents of the bowl in front of him drifted up into his face. "C’mon," he snarled, "show yourself!"  
  
He savored the last bite, letting the flavor slide along his tongue and down his throat.  
  
The man slammed his hand down onto the stump, inadvertently cutting his palm on the large jagged splinters sticking up from its surface. He didn’t notice the drops of blood that landed on the little pyre, catching instantly. The spell redoubled in strength, seeking its target like one of those Peacekeeper missiles the Americans had once been so enamored with. When it didn’t find the objective, it careened off the boundaries of reality and found another victim instead.  
  
The discordant notes of magic faltered around the ancient being, seeking a creature that was inaccessible, relinquished unto his care a few short years before.  
  
The human repeated his incantation in stilted Enochian, vowels pitched suspiciously similar to the oldest dialect of Heaven. It reminded him of the last time the being had spoken to the favored son of his oldest of friends. He had to wonder just how much the boy understood about the words he was speaking. How much had he picked up in The Cage?  
  
He felt the magic building again and dispelled it with a less than enthusiastic sigh. This was getting old. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of leaving his little stolen moment of quiet in the train car, but he figured that the foolishness would just continue if he didn't intervene. He rather enjoyed human cuisine and he wasn't ready just yet to give it up if the whole thing went south and reality imploded. The thought of watching it all go down was diverting until he remembered how stagnant things had been before God’s little ‘free will’ experiment. With a little tug, he brought the rest of himself along the thread stretched thin between here and there, the two snapping together with a slight pop in his eardrums. He settled his cane softly onto the leafy carpet below his feet and waited for the stubborn man to notice his arrival.  
  
It didn’t take Sam long to realize that he had managed to catch something’s attention. He lit the ring of holy oil before he recognized the thin figure at its center. His eyes went wide and he gulped. "Umm," he mumbled.  
  
Death pursed his lips. "Let me guess. Dean is taking a little vacation in the never-never and you were hoping a certain feather-brained former trickster wasn't as expired as you'd thought," he ventured.  
  
Sam circled the stump, putting it between him and the once Horseman. "I didn't summon you," he told him. He looked nervous. The last time Death had been summoned he had promised to kill the both of them, permanently.  
  
"No, you did not," he conceded. "The Messenger is unavailable," he added after a moment.  
  
"I can't leave Dean in the Empty," Sam replied, his expression pleading for understanding.  
  
"You will cease your incessant meddling," Death interjected, looking entirely annoyed. One soul was not worth unraveling the universe over.  
  
Sam scowled. "That's what you came here to say?" He looked down at the spell ingredients still smoldering to ash in the bowl. "Take me to him," he tried. If he couldn’t bring his brother back from the Empty then he would find a way to join him.  
  
Silence.  
  
"I love him," he protested with a growl, grief making his voice almost as wrecked as Castiel’s. His bass croak sounded like he’d gargled gravel for mouthwash.  
  
Death scoffed, "Humans. Always so melodramatic. Very well." He held out one thin hand towards him, an invitation.  
  
Sam couldn’t quite believe his ears and he was positive he could trust that hand without confirming what would happen once he accepted. "I can be with him," he cautiously asked.  
  
"In a word, yes," the being replied.  
  
Sam didn’t even realize he had clasped hands with Death until he was looking down at his own crumpled corpse. He had a fleeting thought that there might not be anyone left to burn his remains. It was almost sad really. He didn’t even look like himself. His face was gaunt, cheekbones standing out while the hollows around his eyes were carved deep. He looked like a man on his way to the grave and he hadn’t even known how true it had been. "What happens now," he asked.  
  
The Horseman moved his hand to Sam’s shoulder. "That is different for every soul," he explained as he steered them away from the earthly plane. "For you, I think, some very special arrangements have been made."  
  
There was no tunnel or bright light, he didn’t even see his life flash before his eyes. He heard the subtle click of a door snicking shut behind him and the next thing he saw was rust colored rock and a worn park bench. The sound of a guitar being plucked was carried to his ears on the wind and he lifted his face to the warmth of the sun to catch the notes a little clearer.  
  
 _I still recall the taste of your tears.  
Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears.  
My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore.  
Scraping through my head 'till I don't want to sleep anymore._  
  
"Dean?" He knew that voice, whiskey rough and such an achingly sweet sound to his ears that Sam could feel tears gathering in his eyes.  
  
 _You always were the one to show me how_  
Back then I couldn't do the things that I can do now.  
This thing is slowly taking me apart.  
Grey would be the color if I had a heart.  
  
Dean stopped playing as he drew near, looking him up and down with a frown on his face. "Sammy," he inquired before he looked down at the guitar, shaking his head. "Stupid stupid stupid," he muttered under his breath.  
  
He walked forward, strides purposeful. He knew what his brother was thinking. The afterlife could trick you. Heaven or Hell. They both had ways of making a soul see things, people that weren’t there, that weren’t real. Dean’s fingers stilled on the strings when Sam kneeled down in front of him and captured his face between his hands.  
  
Dean squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
Sam knew they were trapped in here, wherever here was. Death had made that perfectly clear. This was it. No escape. No last minute rescue. The two of them would remain in this cage until time ended. The being had called it their maximum security Heaven, specially built for the two most slippery souls in existence. He swiped his thumb over Dean’s full bottom lip, and it quivered at his touch. "Dean," he said softly and then urged, "Look at me."  
  
Dean shook his head, but in the end, he opened his eyes. There was a question there, and anguish. "Sammy," he breathed, still not trusting the sight before him.  
  
Sam smiled, dimples coming out in full force.  
  
In the blink of an eye, he found himself sprawled flat on his back in the grass with an armful of big brother. The man was wrapped around him while he started lecturing at the younger brother. "You overgrown idiot. What did you do? I swear, I leave and it’s like you lose all common sense," he grouched sounding both angry and incredibly happy at the same time.  
  
His laugh was full-throated and full of joy. "I did what I had to," he explained.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from Something I Can Never Have by Nine Inch Nails.


End file.
